


A Christmas Miracle

by bothromeoandjuliet



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Christmas Fluff, Every future fic I've written has been set nine years in the future, F/M, Jughead Jones has issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), POV Jughead Jones, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Veronica Lodge has issues, With a side of angst, so I'm declaring 2029 as the Year of Jeronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21956101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: When Jughead Jones had left his cozy New York life to spend Christmas in Riverdale, he hadn't expected anything other then some quality time with his dad and sister. He certainly hadn't been looking for love.(Secret Santa Gift for the wonderful and amazing veronicassadboi/serpentqueenz)
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 20
Kudos: 57





	A Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veronicassadboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicassadboi/gifts), [Jeronica Secret Santa 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jeronica+Secret+Santa+2019).



> This particularly piece of tooth-rotting fiction is dedicated to and was written for veronicassaidboi, without whom, I would never have written my first multi chapter fic or been introduced to all the wonderful members of the Jeronica Nation gc. I have so much to thank you for, and while our ship might not be canon, our friendship most definitely is!
> 
> Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year, darling, and I pray that you enjoy the hallmark movie of a fic that I've written for you!

“Me? Going back to Riverdale, to spend Christmas singing carols and opening presents on Christmas morning like some sort of Hallmark movie? Is that seriously what you’re suggesting, Jones?”

“You have a real special way of describing things, Toni, you know that?”

Toni scoffed, tossing a wrinkled t-shirt she had found on the floor towards his head. Wizzing past his head, it lands against the wall with a soft thud before falling behind his headboard, probably never to be seen again.

Jughead rolled his eyes at her, stuffing a handful of rolled up socks into his suitcase. They’d been having this conversation intermittently since he’d gotten the invite from his dad a few weeks ago—and Toni’s answer had been the same every time. Still, even though he was leaving in under an hour, Jughead had known he had to ask one last time.

“It could be fun, you never know! And I’m sure that JB and my dad would love to see you—probably even more then they will be to see me.”

“Isn’t that true for everyone?” Toni teased, sagging against his dresser, her face suddenly drooping as she continues, “Look, Jones, I appreciate your inviting me, really, but there’s nothing left for me in Riverdale, not after my gramps passed away. I told Cheryl when we broke up that I wouldn’t ever come back, and I don’t intend to—so thank you, but, hell no.”

"It might not be a bad thing to go back, you know? It could help you…I don’t know…bury the hatchet?”

“The hatchet, as you so elegantly put it, is buried. And besides,” leaning down to scoop up a small grey and white cat from the floor, “who would take care of Truman for you if I weren’t here, hmm?”

Jughead sighed at that—he could easily find another pet sitter and they both know it—but he doesn’t push it, even though the image of Toni sitting by herself in the living room, with a bucket of popcorn in her lap and the tv playing some cheesy Netflix original, all alone except for Truman on Christmas, refuses to leave his head. The two of them have spent the last nine christmases together, and the realization of that fact seems to hit him a little more forcefully now that he’s leaving.

“Your presents are under the tree.” He reminded her as they leave his bedroom, with Truman following close behind.

“And that is where they will be staying until you get back.”

“Toni—“

“Don’t give me that tone, Jones.” she said, interrupting Jughead’s protestations, “We open our presents together, or not at all, so my gifts will be under the tree—right next to yours—waiting for when you get back.”

Jughead pulled her into a hug at that, smiling at the way she wraps herself around him, her 5’2’’ feeling rather teeny to his 6’0’’.

“You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were going to miss me, Topaz.”

“And if I didn’t know better, I would say that you were delaying leaving because you’re worried about me. Which would be ridiculous, because I’m going to be fine.”

“Toni…”

“Jughead!” she exclaimed, pulling away from him and laughing, “I’m going to be fine, so just go and have a wonderful christmas with your family, okay? And if you think of me on Christmas morning, shoot me a text.”

* * *

Snow had descended upon the streets of Riverdale, it’s crisp whiteness having extinguished the last futile gleam of autumn’s hold. Dark roofs were lined with twinkling lights, and front yards were littered with snow-made creations. In New York the streets would have been lined with people, but he’s not in New York any more—and with the green lights on his dash reading 10:30 it’s no surprise that Riverdale’s blessed innocents have been locked away for the night.

Jughead swallowed hard at the two motorcycles parked in front of the trailer, parking his car with a slow clunk. He’d been in contact with his family sporadically over the years, and JB’s visited once or twice, but he hadn’t spent any long amounts of time with them since he left. Still, it’s too late to back out now.

“Jughead!” JB squealed as he entered, running up and tackling him in a flurry of flannel.

“Hey, JB.” and then, over her shoulder, “Hi Dad.”

F.P smiled at him, as vocal as ever, and claps a hand down on his shoulder before snatching Jughead’s suitcase from his hand and pulling it over to the pullout couch where Jughead knows he will be sleeping—JB had taken over his room the minute he’d left it, after all.

"It's so good to see you! Have you eaten?” JB asked, pulling back from him.

“Well, I was thinking that we could go to Pops. You know, for old time sake.”

He see’s JB shoot F.P. a glance before she bounded into the kitchen, forcing a laugh.

“I’m going to pretend not to be offended by that, but you really should know better now that there’s a trained chef in the house. Besides, I already made supper, I just didn’t know if you wanted to eat it.”

“I’m always ready to eat.” Jughead assured her “What are we having?”

What they’re having—which Jughead should have been able to tell with his nose—is a chicken pot pie. The conversation is stilted, it’s mostly questions about New York, about his writing, about that little sandwich shop just down the corner from he and Toni’s apartment. Both JB and his dad are edging around Jughead like he’s a walking open wound—like he’s the same boy who left Riverdale all those years ago, with nothing but a backpack and a drowning sense of heartache.

Silence starts to linger, broken up by the scrapping of forks against plates. His dad coughs, JB suggests that he drink some water, he does, and before Jughead can realize what he’s saying the words are out of his mouth.

“I’ll have look up Archie and Betty while I’m in town.”

Eleven small words, none of them really that consequential, but they both look at him like he’s begun speaking greek.

“Well, you could—“ JB begins, only to be cut of by F.P, who says,

“It’s no good trying to that this year, boy. They’re down in Chicago—spending the holidays with Archie’s mother.”

Jughead nodded, biting down on hard on the prongs of his fork. A yell echoed from one of the other trailers, thundering in the drawn out pause, and Jughead lowered his fork to his plate with an air of desperation.

“So it looks like you guys have gotten a lot of snow here, in Riverdale. Must be costing the city a lot for snow removal.”

* * *

The cold air crystalized Jughead’s breath, burrowed itself inside his lungs. He fingered the packet of cigarettes in his pocket—he hadn’t had the chance to smoke before breakfast that morning—but hesitated. Were there laws against smoking in cemeteries? Jughead wasn’t sure, but it had to be at least frowned upon.

He is visiting Fred Andrews’ grave. Jughead had had the idea the night before during dinner, and when breakfast had been just as awkward as dinner had been, the idea had become a certainty.

Poor Fred Andrews, Christmas had always been his favorite season—trees and bright lights and candy canes in a bowl on the kitchen counter—it doesn’t seem fair that he’s been left all alone for the holidays. Only, it’s clear that he isn’t alone, not really; the branch of holly and the absence of any snow tells Jughead that in a glance.

He wonders who else remembered old Fred, and slid the cigarettes halfway out of his pocket before glancing around, halting at the sight of a woman and a little boy standing at a grave further into the cemetery.

Jughead’s never been that into art—Toni always jokes that he’s just jealous over the whole, ‘a thousand words’ thing—but even he can’t deny the picturesqueness of the scene. It isn’t snowing, but the wind is blowing snow from the tree’s; sending it towards the pair so they’re covered with a sparkling, other-worldly, sheen.

_Mother and child, in mourning, in grief, shedding tears for…_

Jughead’s train of thought stalled, crashed—complete with fire and screams. That was the real question of course, who were they grieving for? If Jughead were to put them in his next book he would have it be a husband, whose death would be the starting point for the whole book—what do we do when we lose people we love—that sort of thing.

The woman moved, shocking Jughead into remembering were he was, and he dropped his eyes back to the gravestone, biting down so hard on his lip that he’s sure that it’ll leave an indent for him to dig his tongue into later. Out of the corner of his eye he see’s the pair moving closer, sliding along the frozen ground, ambushing him.

_Crap, crap, crap—_

“Jughead? Jughead Jones?”

 _I know that voice,_ he thinks, only to correct himself in the next moment after his eyes make contact with hers.

_I knew that voice._

“Veronica Lodge, as I live and breathe.”

The idea of hugging her goes through his mind, but Jughead brushes it aside quickly—he and Veronica hadn’t been those kinds of friends—so instead he smiles awkwardly, fingers twitching deep inside his pockets, stare going in-between Veronica and the little boy at her side.

“I can’t believe that you’re here; it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“In general? Or just in this cemetery?” Jughead joked, and Veronica doesn’t miss a beat answering him.

“Well, you randomly turning up in the cemetery isn’t all that out of character for you, although I would’ve thought that fall was more your desired aesthetic. But I’m being rude, Jughead, this is Javier.”

The little boy—Javier—who Jughead placed around seven years old, looked up shyly, his big brown eyes wide, and his mouth tightly closed. Jughead gave him a small smile then looked back to Veronica, suddenly nervous.

“A pleasure. And he’s your…”

He can’t seem to make his mouth form the word son, but lucky he doesn’t have too.

“Nephew. His mom knows I couldn’t possibly go through the holidays without my special helper—isn’t that right, Javier?” squeezing his shoulder.

Javier nodded, still eyeing Jughead uncertainly, and tugged at the edge of Veronica’s coat; motioning for her to come down to him, and whispering in her ear when she did.

“Yeah, of course you can finish up if you want to. You know which ones are left right?”

Javier nodded again, the blue ball of yarn on the top of his head bobbing back and forth with each movement, and then trots away.

“Be careful for ice!” Veronica yelled after him, narrowing her eyes as he disappeared into the parking lot. She is thoroughly distracted, so Jughead takes the opportunity to observe her more closely.

If the years have been kind to Jughead, they’d been kinder to Veronica. She hadn’t changed, not by a single hair, as far was he could see, except that she’s a little bit softer—a little less controlled then the girl he left behind on graduation day. That and the fact that her neck is completely bare, no pearls, no heart shaped locket.

Jughead can’t decide whether he likes it or not.

“So, are you just cruising the graves for inspiration? Or are you here to visit someone in particular?”

“Not other then the obvious.” motioning to the stone at their feet “What about you?”

Veronica sighed, and wraps her arms further around herself before answering.

“We’re just going on the rounds. I was actually planning on coming tomorrow but Javier insisted. He likes the shoveling.”

“The rounds?”

“Well you didn’t think that Mr. Andrews grave cleaned itself, did you?” Veronica joked “It’s just something I like to do, you know, to give back. I try to take care of the people who don’t have anyone else.”

“And who would that be?”

“Jason Blossom, Nana Rose, Pope Tate, Mr. Muggs, Ben and Dilton, Mr. Andrews, and Mr. Cooper.” she rattled off “And my dad, obviously.”

The mention of her father was almost edging on an afterthought, and Veronica gives him a look that dares him to pick up on it—to offer his sympathies. But they both know that it would be mostly false anyway, so Jughead doesn’t. Instead he blinked and griped onto the other unusual name on Veronica’s list.

“Hal Cooper? As in, Black Hood, serial killer, Hal Cooper?”

“You sound like the rest of the town.” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to where Javier was.

“Well, the rest of the town does have a point.”

“And so do I! And that point is, that we’ll never be able to move on from the trauma he inflicted if we don’t forgive him for it.”

“Well I guess I can’t fault your logic. Say,” remembering the fact that he can’t stay here for the rest of the day and knowing that he can’t stand going back to his dad’s trailer quite yet, “where are you going after this? We could go get some coffee or something at Pops—just like old times! But it’s fine if you’re busy, I mean, do you have to drop Javier off with his mom or…”

Jughead stopped himself from continuing, noting the dark look that crossed Veronica’s face.

“Javier and I had plans to do that already actually—with hot chocolate, not coffee— but you can come along if you want to.” Veronica hurried to reassure him.

“Although, your sister won’t be working today.” she adds, as if Jughead was supposed to know that already.

“JB? Since when does she work at Pops?”

“She doesn’t,” Veronica laughs, waving Javier back over to them, “Pops doesn’t really exist anymore, Jughead.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t exist anymore?”

“I mean, that after Pop Tate died and left me the diner, I changed the name. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Jughead shook his head mutely, too shocked to say anything. Veronica regarded him with a sympathetic expression, dropping her hand onto Javier’s shoulder as he came to stand beside her.

“I’m sorry, Jug. I honestly thought you knew…Listen, why don’t you follow us, and I’ll show you around and give you a cup of coffee—on the house, I promise.”

“Well how can I say no to that?” Jughead joked, enjoying the smile that it brought to Veronica’s face as he trudged behind the other two on the way back to the parking-lot.

* * *

“Ya’ know, Lodge. I sometimes think your imagination isn’t all you claimed it was back in high-school.” Jughead teased, looking up on the new, definitely classier sign that’s sitting above the roof of what used to be Pops—although you wouldn’t know that if you hadn’t grown up in Riverdale.

“Shut up, Jones.” rolling her eyes at him, even though there isn’t any real heat behind the action. “I couldn’t very well keep the name ‘Pops’ without Pop Tate, and even though I went back to Lodge I couldn’t desert my other choice completely—”

“And therefore ‘Luna’s’ was born!” he finished for her, already walking to the front door.

Any doubt that Jughead may have had that Pops’ was gone for good disappeared as soon as he opened the door. Gone are the old, vinyl booths with their split seams and water stains. The floors are no longer tiled, instead they’ve been replaced with spotlessly polished maple wood, that gleams bravely against every surface it can. Everything is plush and opulent—Jugheadcan’t imagine a lonely high-schooler managing to find security in these walls, or bringing his sweetheart here for an after school date. He might now, if he had a sweetheart, and this place was in New York instead of Riverdale, but back then—

“We’re sort of a three operation place,” Veronica explained, giving a nod to the hostess and nudging Javier over to a row of benches that look out through the wall of windows.

“In the afternoon we act as a café, at night we move into fine dining and then after nine o’clock this all gets closed down and the bar opens up downstairs! Not this week though, of course, because we’re setting up for the annual Christmas party, but normally it would be.”

“Veronica? Can I have a candy cane in my hot chocolate?” Javier asked, spinning his stool around and around in a circle.

“Of course you can, I’ll get it in one second, okay?” Veronica promised, turning back to Jughead with a harried look.

“I’ll be right back with our drinks, so if you could just sit with Javier while I’m gone—I’ll only be a minute, I swear!”

And with that she flew away to the kitchen, leaving Jughead standing there, mouth half open in protestation.

It wasn’t that Jughead had anything against kids per say—he just wasn’t ever around them—didn’t know how to talk to them like they weren’t just small versions of adults. Still, Veronica couldn’t take too long with three drinks, and how difficult could one little boy be?

“Hey buddy.” sitting down and drumming his fingers nervously against his thigh.

Javier glanced at him suspiciously, slowing his spinning down to a complete stop.

“Hi.”

“Pretty nice place your aunt has here, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose she lets you have the run of the place whenever you visit.”

“I guess.”

“Do you have any homework that you’re supposed to do over the holidays? Or does your school not make you do homework?”

“We have a book. Veronica’s reading it with me. She says that the schools here are nicer then the one she went to when she was little.”

“Schools here? But don’t you go to school…” Jughead paused, wracking his brains to think if Hermosa had said she lived the only time he’d met her, but since he was unable to he finishes lamely, “somewhere else?”

Javier looked up at him with a confused expression that was most defiantly _not_ his own, but before he could speak Veronica arrived.

“Sorry that that took so long—even when it’s your day off people always seem to want you. So that’s one hot chocolate with a candy cane, one dark roast coffee—cream, three sugars— and one earl grey tea!”

She sat down, sliding Javier down a seat so she was sitting between Jughead and him, and smiled out the window; towards the big flakes of snow that were beginning to fall.

“So what were you two talking about? Anything I’d be sad to miss?"

Javier shrugged and Jughead looked from his coffee, to Veronica, dumbfounded.

“You remembered how I take my coffee.”

“Well obviously I remember how you take your coffee; I would be a pretty poor waitress if I didn’t. After all, it’s not like I didn’t serve you mug after mug of the stuff after you and Betty—“

She cut herself off, glancing awkwardly at him, and Jughead sighed internally.

“Broke up? It’s okay, Lodge, I can bear to hear it mentioned without having an aneurism.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that you and Toni each breaking up with your significant others had nothing to do with you both moving to New York the second we graduated?”

“That is—I—We—What is Cheryl up to these days anyway?”

Veronica snorted, lifting her teabag up and down. Jughead knows she knows that he’s avoiding the question—that that’s exactly the reason he and Toni had left—but he also know that she isn’t going to push the issue; not right now at least.

“Cheryl, after numerous stints in both rehab and the ICU, decided to move to California with Polly and the twins.”

“I thought that she never wanted to leave Riverdale. That’s what Toni says anyway."

“Well, I guess facing death changes your priorities.” Veronica replied shortly “Is that what you and Toni do out there in New York? Talk about your individual heartbreaks and try to see whose tears can fill up the bathtub first?”

He and Toni don’t do that as a matter of fact, but Veronica’s words still manage to get under Jughead’s skin. It was biting comments like that that had insured his and Veronica’s lack of friendship during high school—and his first instinct is the same now as it had been then; to bite back as hard as he can.

“No actually, we thought we’d leave the tears to you. After all, at least Betty was kind enough to dump me before she got together with Archie. From what I remember, you weren’t as fortunate.”

Veronica blanched, and shoves her teacup away from her with so much force that it almost spills over.

“Well, it’s easy to see that some people never managed to grow the hell up. Come on, Javier,” standing and taking his hand “we have to get home. It was _so nice_ to see you again, Jones. Say hello to your book of pathetic clichés for me when you get home.”

“Oh come on, Lodge. Veronica!”

But it was too late, she was already out the door and the staff were looking at him strangely for all the noise he was making. Jughead could already tell that his and Veronica’s little tiff was going to be the topic of conversation around these people’s dinner tables that night. So he swallowed the last of his coffee with a scowl, and then drove back to the trailer—fuming the whole way.

“Jug? That you?” JB asks as soon as he opens the trailer door.

Jughead grimaced, then remembering that she couldn’t actually see him answered, “Yeah, it’s me.” slouching his way into the kitchen where JB was cooking something on the stove.

“Hey stranger—you slipped out this morning. Dad’s at work, but he said he’d be sure to get home for supper. What have you been up to?”

Her tone is forcefully cheerful, and it grates on Jughead’s ears like metal on metal.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Pops was gone?”

JB halted her stirring, and twisted to look at him properly. Her expression seemed frozen, and when she spoke it was in the broken tone of uncertainty.

“Well…It’s not gone—not exactly. It’s just…under new management.”

“Yeah, Veronica’s management you mean.”

He spit out Veronica’s name with so much vehemence that it was a shock even to him, and JB narrowed her eyes.

“Jughead, don’t you dare start throwing a hissy fit over Veronica—you’re not in high school anymore—and she’s been through things that you could never even begin to understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” he muttered, picking at hangnail, refusing to look up, even when JB threw her wooden spoon against the counter with a bang so loud it seemed like someone could file a noise complaint.

“Damnit, Jughead! Could you just stop it with the dramatics for one second?”

“Why should I?” he challenged “After all, this is the first time you’ve actually acted like a real life person since I got here and not some robotic, wax doll, who’s voice box is giving out. Dad too, it’s like you’re both stuck in a perpetual state of politeness!”

“And whose fault do you think that is, you moron!” JB yelled, throwing her arms out in frustration.

“Are you saying it’s mine?! My fault?”

“Yes, your fault! How exactly are Dad and I supposed to be anything but polite when we don’t know what’s going to set you off!? After all, last time that your feelings got hurt, you left town and we didn’t hear from you for three freaking years! So forgive us if we’re a little skittish about the topics we bring up around you.”

“You and dad knew that I was thinking about moving to New York!”

“Yeah, we knew, in a vague; in the future kind of way. But we didn’t expect to wake up one morning with you gone and a note on the kitchen counter being the only way you actually said goodbye!”

Jughead couldn’t deny that, and before he could begin to defend himself, JB had already started again.

“Did you even think before you did it, Jughead? Did you think about what would happen to the people you left behind—even once? Do you know how long it took for dad to start acting normal again after you abandoned us? Two years, two _freaking_ years, Jughead! Two years of a silent trailer and a dad who could hardly get out of bed in the morning! And that was your fault, because you were too selfish to think about the people you were leaving behind! So Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year, Forsythe Jones—welcome to the mess you created!”

The last few words are tear choked, and before Jughead can stop her, JB has rushed out of the kitchen—slamming her bedroom door behind her with a hollow bang. He followed her, and yelled her name through the door.

“JB, will you just—“

“Go away, Jughead! Just go away and leave me alone!”

Out the front door—into the snow. The car beeping and the engine thrumming to life. He shouldn’t be driving—he can barely see five feet in front of him he’s so blinded by all the different emotions spiraling around inside him—but he can’t stay—he won’t stay.

All the buildings were too familiar. He can’t hide from his past when it’s growing up around him; half buried in the snow.

 _I need to get back to New York,_ he thought.

Because New York was safe, it was anonymous. The buildings were big and the faces were ever changing and he didn’t have to face the ghosts of his past if he didn’t want to. He could just hide away, and give them different names, and then stick it in a book and let the people gape and aww over his ‘unusual insight into the human condition.’

_I’ll be safe in New York._

That’s when he started to slide. Skidding, skidding—the roads are icy and he wasn’t paying attention—and there’s the edge of the road. There’s a sign, and a tree, and a blank space of snow in-between them. He thinks about the tree—about how easy it would be, to let the wheel go, to drop his foot against the accelerator; he even wonders about the ultimate safety of death—and then he turned the wheel and slid into the snow in-between.

Jughead breathed hard for a moment after the car slows to a stop. His hands gripped tight to the wheel, and when he pulls them away to reach for his phone they are quivering like a freshly plucked guitar string. Jughead’s taps against his phone’s screen are desperate—why can’t he seem to take a breath?  
One ring, two rings, four. His chest was tightening and his throat feels like it is closing up.

“—ughead?” and then again, more clearly that time “Jughead, is that you?”

“Toni.” he breathed out—because it was a short word and he feels like it might be all he could manage.

“Toni.”

“I’m here Jug, talk to me—what is it?”

Her voice is beginning to sound worried, and it makes him smile because Jughead knew exactly what sort of face she was making. Eyebrows drawn together in the middle of her forehead, one hand pressing the phone to her ear and the other in a fist—digging into her hipbone.

“I—I shouldn’t have come here, Toni. You were right.”

Toni’s nervous laughter coiled inside his ear.

“Jug, what’s happening out there? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” he trailed off, letting each word linger on his lips.

“Am I a horrible person, Toni?”

“What?”

“Because I’m starting to think that I am—that I’m this horrible, selfish person, who hurts everyone around him.”

“Who is everyone, Jug? JB?”

“Everyone.”

“Your dad?”

“Everyone, Toni, everyone. JB, my mom, my dad, even Veronica—“

“You saw Veronica?” Toni interrupts.

“Yeah, I guess, I mean—she—I—damn it all!” and then he had tears spilling over, running hot against his cheeks.

“Oh, Jug.” Toni’s voice was softer, which meant that he must’ve been crying loud enough for her to hear and understand what was happening on the other end of the line “Jug, what did you do?”

“I—I said things that I should never have said, Toni. I hurt her, I hurt her so much; just because she brushed up against my ego—I didn’t even hesitate!” he continued, biting his lip when he realizes that he hadn’t even started on his dad and sister.

“You didn’t have anyone left in Riverdale, Toni,” he sighed “you’ve said it before and I’m sure you’ll say it again—and you’re right, you don’t! But me…I had a family, and I abandoned them. I broke my dad, just like my mom did, and I left JB alone to pick up the pieces. And for what?” Jughead let’s a frantic laugh out into the air; feels it catch, at the base of his throat, around the edges of his teeth.

“It was a girl, Toni! A single, blonde girl—who’s only claim to my affection was habit and nostalgia for what she used to be. Betty Cooper—Betty Andrews,” he conceded, not bitterly but with a tone of resignation.

“It wasn’t just Betty,” Toni reminded him “it was Archie too. They both hurt you, Jug.”

“I knew, Toni.” he admitted, tears leaking out around the edge of the words “For weeks before it happened I knew, and I didn’t say anything. I was cruel—I wanted her to feel guilty when she told me—to grovel. But she didn’t tell me—she broke up with me, but she didn’t tell me. And that’s why I left—not because I was hurt, but because Betty had insulted my intelligence—my ego—and I couldn’t handle it.”

“Jughead…We were eighteen, people do stupid things when they’re eighteen—“

Jughead laughs, cutting her off.

“You’re a good friend, Toni. You’re too good of a friend actually—which is why you don’t call me out on my crap half the time.”

“It’s not my job to; that’s why people have therapists, Jones.”

Jughead laughed again at that, his fingers jittery against the coarse denim of his jeans.

“Honestly though, Jughead, if you did mess up, just go apologize. I know that you’ll mean it, and with only one day between before Christmas Eve you’ll never have people be more inclined to forgive you then right now.”

“You’re one manipulative women, Topaz, you know that right?”

“Only for you, Jones. Now go fix your mess—I’ve got a movie to get back to.”

It ends up being easier then Jughead had expected to back the car out of the ditch but the drive back to the trailer is slow—although wether he was afraid of another accident or just of facing JB, Jughead really couldn’t tell. His dad’s motorcycle was still nowhere to be seen, and when he stepped inside the trailer it was deadly quite.

“JB?” he whispered, pushing her now unlocked bedroom door open “It’s just me.”

JB didn’t answer him, her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling—on the crack that stretched from one side of the room to the other—but she doesn’t yell at him when he lays down next to her on the bed, which Jughead chooses to take as a good sign.

“You were right about…everything.” he starts, gnawing at his bottom lip; twisting the hem of his shirt around and around in-between his fingertips.

“I did leave you and dad behind without thinking about it—and I’m sorry. Like really, really, I accidentally killed your pet hamster, levels of sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” JB murmured “It’s not your job to babysit me and dad, even though I might wish it was sometimes. I guess that I was just scared that you’d leave again and—“

“JB,” he interrupted “has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot? Like, seriously a lot?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“So are you.”

They didn’t say anything more after that. JB’s hand tightened around his, and they kept their eyes up—watching the ceiling—listening to the sound of their breath; and in that moment, it’s enough.

* * *

Jughead wasn’t afraid to go talk to Veronica. Yes, he may have waited until after lunch to leave the trailer, and he might have chosen to walk to ‘Luna’s’ instead of taking his car—but that didn’t have anything to do with Veronica—not at all, not even a little bit.

He’s never been very good at lying to himself.

The residents of Riverdale are out in full force. Happy couples, kids with their parents, snowballs flying through the air. If Jughead had been paying more then a surface level of attention to what was going on around him he would have laughed at the cliché-ness of it all—you could almost have believed that someone was about to burst into song. The cold wasn’t as biting—it was more of a crisp feeling, the kind of cold that brought color into your cheeks without setting your nose running. The snow sloshes over his boots; fresh and white from the day before. The most wonderful time of year indeed.

Jughead frowned as he entered ‘Luna’s’ parking lot—he could see Javier through one of the windows. His face was despondent, propped up by his small hands, and the sight of it set Jughead’s mind whizzing with sympathy and curiosity.

“Hey, Javier.” Jughead called as he entered, giving a small smile to the teenage boy who was mopping in the corner.

Javier jumped at the sound of his name, then turned to face Jughead full on.

“Hi.”

“Is your aunt Veronica around? I came to talk to her.”

“She had to go to the store quick. The star fell off the tree and she had to go buy a new one.”

Jughead nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Javier gave him a searching look.

“You can wait with me if you want to—I’m not doing anything very fun though."

“Well I’m sure that’s not true,” sitting down next to him and opening the boy’s backpack “look; you’ve got a dvd player in here and,” pulling the movie out “‘White

Christmas’ and that’s one of the best ones!”

Javier shook his head, reaching over and taking the movie carefully from Jughead’s hand.

“I can’t watch that one yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my mom’s favorite. She said that we’d watch it when she comes.”

“‘When she comes?’ What do you mean, Javier? Isn’t she in town—visiting Veronica with you?”

Javier was silent for a moment, zipping up his backpack, his expression confused, and then he asked, “How do you visit someone you live with?”

“Well Javier you—Visiting someone is—Oh…” Jughead trailed off, finally putting the puzzle pieces together.

Veronica’s angry expression when he’d mentioned Hermosa, JB’s illusions to Veronica’s struggles, Javier acting like he went to school in Riverdale—which he did of course, Jughead had just been too blind to see it—and that look in his eyes that seemed so familiar to Jughead.

The look of abandonment—Jughead really should have recognized it sooner.

“Hey, Javier,” Jughead began, desperate to change the topic—to blink back the wetness that keeps wanting to well up in his eyes “do you have gloves?”

“Yeah, why?”

“‘Cause, it’s too nice a day to sit inside watching movies. Come on,” standing up and helping Javier down from his stool “we’re gonna make your aunt a surprise!”

It didn’t take very long to get Javier on board with making a snowman in the fresh snow Jughead had walked through earlier, and he ended up having a remarkable ability to smooth the snow just-so; so it balled together without a crack to be seen.

“Doesn’t he need a hat? Javier asked, tilting his head to one side while they stood, contemplating their creation.

They’d gotten buttons and a face, (rocks from around the parking lot) and branches for arms, (Jughead had tramped into the small bunch of trees across the street and snapped off the branches that Javier had deemed, ‘pointy enough’) but so far the snowman had remained hatless.

“Well, we don’t exactly have a top hat on standby—” Jughead began, patting his jacket’s pockets, only for Javier to interrupt him with a loud whoop of excitement.

“We can use my crown! Wait here!”

“Crown? Wait, Javier—don’t run on the ice!”

But Javier was already gone, disappearing inside ‘Luna’s’ only to reappear a few moments later, waving something grey high in the air as he ran.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down buddy.” Jughead cried, catching Javier by the waist as he ran up to him, breathing hard—but smiling.

“I got it, I got it!” scrambling away from Jughead only to pause in front of the snowman, probably realizing that the head was too high for him to reach.

“Here,” turning and shoving the hat into Jughead’s hand “you put it on.”

“Alright.”

Jughead, biting back a laugh, turned the hat over in his hands, wrinkling his forehead as he realized what it was. He’d have to be an idiot not to recognize his former armor after all.

“Um, Javier? Where’d you get this hat?”

“Candy gave it to me.”

“Candy?” Jughead wracked his brain, trying to match the name—and then chuckled.

“Do you mean Jellybean?”

“Yeah—but she doesn’t like being called that. Why?”

“No reason. Let’s give this dude his hat, okay?”

Jughead squeezed the beanie around the snowman’s head, and both he and Javier stood back to admire their work. Cars wizzed along the road behind them, and somehow Jughead’s hand ended up on Javier’s shoulder—giving it a comforting squeeze that he couldn’t quite account for.

“Do you think she’s going to like it?” Javier asked, looking up at him, his big brown eyes contrasting nicely against the white yarn in his hat.

“Well I think she’ll—“

“Of course I like it. I’m not a monster after all.” came Veronica’s amused voice from behind them.

Javier was the first to react—whirling around and running over to give his aunt a tight hug—but Jughead turned slower, sheepishly almost. Veronica ignored him, all her attention focused on the little boy who was wrapped around her.

“Do you think that the brownies we made before I left are done by now, Javier?"

He nodded eagerly, and Veronica grabbed his hand, making a move towards ‘Luna’s,’ only for Javier to dig his heels into the snow stubbornly and looking over his shoulder to ask,

“Aren’t you coming to, Jughead? Veronica makes the best brownies.”

Jughead looked to Veronica for her approval, but she kept her back to him—rigid and unrelenting—so instead he decides to take the matter into his own hands by moving forward and sweeping Javier off his feet and on to Jughead’s back.

“Well of course I’m coming; I never say no to brownies!”

Veronica narrowed her eyes, hand instinctively reaching out to steady Javier’s swaying on Jughead’s shoulders, but she didn’t say anything—just silently led the way back to the restaurant.

The brownies were done, so they all had one—Javier and Jughead talking together and Veronica standing at the sink, watching them—but she didn’t say anything till they had all finished, at which point she suggested Javier bring brownies to the rest of the staff, which he agreed to do with a large, chocolate covered smile.

“What are you doing here, Jughead?” Veronica asked, quietly, because the door had barely shut behind Javier.

“I wanted to apologize—for what I said and…and how I acted and—and—just everything.” he finished slowly, keeping his stare pinned to hers—although he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t notice the steady rise and fall of Veronica’s chest, or the way her tongue nips out to wet her lips.

“That’s it?”

“…What?” Jughead asks, jerking his attention away from her mouth—something that appears to be a new fascination that he can’t quite explain to himself.

“Just, ‘I’m sorry?’ No witty explanation or subtle illusion to how it was actually my fault?”

She says the words with complete seriousness but her eyebrow is arched teasingly, taunting him.

“Nope, I’m completely sincere. I mean, I’m assuming that I’ll be invited to this Christmas party that I keep hearing about but other then that…”

Veronica shook her head and burst out into laughter. Her teeth flashed pearly white against her lipstick, which is red now, not burgundy. It’s another change from their high-school days—another thing Jughead doesn’t know why he notices.

“Seriously though,” taking a small, almost unnoticeable step forward—closer to her—closer to taking her hands in his “I am sorry for what I said. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly deserve what I said either. It’s just—with Cheryl, I was there through…all of it, and I guess that I started to feel a little…protective.

Anyway,” sticking out her hand for him to shake “truce?”

“Truce.” Jughead answered, shaking it, holding on slightly longer then he has any reason to.

Veronica smirks up at him, tightening her grip a fraction before letting go.

“And with that out of the way, I have a decoration malfunction to get back to.” stepping past him and leaving the kitchen.

Jughead waited a moment, considering his options, before giving in and following her downstairs.

The speakeasy had changed much less then the upstairs had, except that it was better lit, although Jughead put that down to the yards of white christmas lights that covered the ceiling. Veronica stood off to the side, stretching her arms upwards, attempting to place the star on the top branches with very little success.

“You know I could help with that, right?”

“I’m good, thanks.” she huffed, turning and pulling a chair over to the tree stepping up onto it with a wobble, thanks to her heels.

“Veronica!” Jughead cried, starting forward only to be halted by Veronica’s raised hand.

“Jughead, I’m fine—I can do this!”

“Without breaking your neck?” he asked, but Veronica ignored him, to focused on placing the star ‘just so’ to pay attention to his half-silent protestations.

The star settled into place, sparkling brightly after Veronica plugged it’s cord into the rest of lights.

Veronica cocked her head to the side, “Does it look straight to you?” she asked, taking a few ill-conceived steps backward.

It seemed like it happened in slow motion—the back of one heel hovered, perilously, on the edge of the chair—Veronica’s weight shifted—the heel slipped of completely—her arms spiraled as she fell through the air—a yell ripped itself from Jughead’s throat—and then he had caught her in his arms, and together they crashed to the floor.

Veronica—who had ended up on top—was the first to recover from the shock. She rolled off his chest, and kneeled next to him, urgently shaking his shoulders while she spoke.

“Jughead, are you okay? Jughead!”

He cracked his eyes open, wincing as he sat up. Veronica gripped anxiously onto his shoulders, stooping a little to look into his eyes.

“I’m fine, I think. You?”

“I’m okay, I just…” she hesitated, then threw her arms around Jughead, hugging him tightly.

“I’m just so glad that you’re not hurt.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Princess.” He teased, too caught up in the scent of her hair and the feeling of her arms around his neck to catch the nickname before it slipped out of his mouth.

Jughead froze, and Veronica pulled back from him, lips parted and pupils full blown. The silence, despite the presence of the staff upstairs, hung heavily around them, and Jughead scrambled to think of something to say.

“So—“

“Javier is a really sweet kid.” Jughead blurted out, interrupting Veronica.

She blinked at his sudden words as if processing them, and leaning back slightly answered, “He is, thank you.”

Veronica rose to her feet as she spoke, and Jughead hurried to follow suit.

“Veronica…I hate to ask—“

“Clearly you don’t.”

“But what exactly is the situation? Is Hermosa still involved? Is the father? How long has it been like this?”

Veronica, who had moved behind the counter, leaned on her elbows and sighed.

“I’ve never known anyone else be able to ask so many questions at once, Jones. Fine, you want the rundown? Seven years ago I got a phone call from my sister saying that she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me who the dad was and I didn’t ask; so no, he’s not in the picture. Flash-forward eight months and Javier was brought into the world. And at first everything was…great, actually. Hermosa was a devoted mom for the first three years—I would go to see them whenever I could and everything seemed like it was fine. Then everything with Cheryl blew up and the next thing I knew I was getting a phone call from one of my sister’s neighbors. Apparently, Hermosa had asked her to watch Javier for the afternoon because she had a work emergency—but she hadn’t come back.”

Jughead sucked in his breathe and she acknowledged him with a nod before continuing.

“I don’t how the woman had my number—maybe Hermosa had given it to her, maybe she’d found it somewhere around the apartment—or how she knew who I was. Honestly, I never thought to ask, and the long and the short of it was that I went and took care of him until Hermosa came back, which was a week and a half later. He was only four years old.”

Her eyes winced shut after she says that, and when she starts again, she’s visibly upset.

“I talked to Hermosa after she came back; she told me that she’d had to leave the state for a case—that she had tried to call me but hadn’t been able to —and she swore that it would never happen again. And for the next year or so, it didn’t. But then when I went to visit for Javier’s fifth birthday, Hermosa told me that she had some paperwork she needed to deliver and asked me to watch Javier while she was gone. I agreed, thinking that she would be back in a hour or so.”  
Veronica paused and he filled in the blanks for her.

“She didn’t come back, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. I got an email three days later telling me that a case had been brought in that she couldn’t refuse. I told her in no uncertain terms that no ‘case’ should have been more important then her son’s birthday and that if she ever did something like that again I would be bringing Javier back to Riverdale to live with me. She promised me that it wouldn’t—and then four months later she broke that promise. Javier’s been living with me ever since.”

“Does she ever…visit? Call, at least?”

Veronica shook her head, gripping so tightly to the edge of the countertop that her knuckles went white.

“She visits once a year, maybe—and she calls every other month or so. I don’t actually have any legal right to Javier, but she doesn’t seem too concerned with that aspect of the situation—and as far as affection goes, Javier is more my son then hers.”  
Jughead stared at her, wonderingly, and Veronica blushed.

“What, have I grown a second head or something?”

“It’s just…” Jughead hesitated, torn between honesty and politeness.

“What?”

“I’m just glad that he has someone who cared enough to—to take care of him. I would’ve given anything to have someone like that when I was growing up.”

“Oh.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, too wrapped up in their own individual memories to speak. Veronica began pleating a napkin—back and forth, back and forth—absent-mindedly, and Jughead watched her fingers as they darted here and there; pressing, creasing.

“Is he coming to the party tomorrow night?”

Veronica jerked back to herself at Jughead’s question and laughed lightly.

“Is the seven year old coming to the christmas party that’s taking place in a bar? No, no he is not.”

“I only asked,” searching her face with bright eyes “because if he wasn’t I didn’t know if you would be; and I would like to know at least one person at this party.”

“Well you don’t need to be worried—I’ve gotten Javier a babysitter for a few hours so I can make an appearance—but I won’t be here for the full party. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him alone for very long on Christmas Eve.”

A boom echoed from upstairs, and Veronica hurried from out behind the counter; towards the stairs, only pausing when Jughead spoke.

“So I’ll see you there then?”

“I never thought that I’d live to see that day that Jughead Jones was this anxious to be invited to a party.” she laughed.

“Well maybe I’m a different person from the boy I was before.”

She turned completely to face him at that, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I hope that’s not completely true. I, for one, remember being pretty fond of that particular boy.”

And with that she rushed away upstairs, leaving Jughead alone with the christmas lights, and his rapidly flushing cheeks.

* * *

Pops—‘Luna’s’—parking lot was full to bursting point by the time Jughead had arrived. Groups of people hurried inside; they were all dressed at a black-tie level, and as Jughead handed his jacket to the the coat-attendant he was thankful that he’d decided to wear a suit—despite the constriction of the tie around his neck, and the tightness of his shoes around his toes.

A nondescript waiter ushered him downstairs, setting him up with a glass of champagne with raspberries resting at the bottom of the glass and a table near the back of the room.

The music was, if not exactly festive, loud and energetic, and in the center of the room people were dancing together—drunk on the nostalgia of holidays gone by.

He strained his eyes trying to spot Veronica, and soon enough he did see her, behind the bar; laughing at something a customer had said. Jughead stood, swallowing the last of his drink—appreciating the fizz of the raspberries as they rolled over his taste buds—and fought his way to the bar. Only, by the time he had reached it Veronica was nowhere to be seen.

“You want a refill for that, sir?” one of the bartenders said, gesturing to the glass in Jughead’s hand.

“A refill of—Oh, yeah. Sure.” pulling out his wallet and sliding some money across the table.

Jughead went back to his table after that, or tried to at least. Unfortunately a couple had already taken possession of it, leaving him with no option but to wander around, keeping an eye out for Veronica. He couldn’t find her however, and before long he found himself behind the christmas tree, nursing the last of his champagne, and finally going through all the emails that had been building up on his phone.

About an hour later a shadow crossed his field of vision, and looking up, Jughead found himself face to face with Veronica.

“Hey stranger. Having fun?”

Jughead chuckled, shaking his head as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“As much fun as I ever have had big parties—which is to say none.”

“Well,” looking him up and down appreciatively “at least you’ve proven that you clean up nice. I have to admit, I never thought that I would see you in a suit.”

“My publisher made me get one after I finished my last book. Apparently I’m not ‘reclusive’ enough to get away with wearing street clothes to book launches.”

“Ahh, right. That was ‘Driving Into the Forest,’ right?”

“It was actually…You read it?”

“But of course.”

“Did you like it?”

Veronica finished the last of her drink, seeming to consider his words.

“No. Not as much as your previous work at least.”

“Why not?” Jughead asked incredulously, leaning down slightly to make sure that he could catch her reply.

“It just seemed like you were retreading ground, that’s all. It wasn’t as original.”

“I suppose that I can’t lean on my Riverdale experiences forever.” he admitted “But the fact of the matter is that I haven’t actually had time to gather new experiences—not between collage and five full length books in nine years. My publisher’s have given me a break after this last one though, thank goodness. I think they’re of the same opinion about my work as you are, Lodge.”

Veronica laughed at that, then raised an eyebrow as the latest song ended, giving way to a slower one.

“Are you going to ask me to dance?”

“Veronica, I don’t dance. Never have, never will.”

“But I thought you wanted ‘new experiences.’” taking his glass from him and putting it down on a nearby table along with hers “Come and dance with me, please? I’ve been stuck in adult, hostess mode all night—I want to at least have one care-free moment before I go home. Besides,” sliding her arm though his and leading the way towards the dancing “you wouldn’t want to disappoint your publishers, would you?”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” Jughead joked, although he privately admitted to himself that he cared a lot less about disappointing his publishers then he did about disappointing Veronica in that moment.

Couples parted for them, and soon enough he and Veronica were in the middle of them all, slowing swaying to the music.  
Veronica’s dress—black, velvet, framing her shoulders—was soft against Jughead’s fingertips. He rubbed it in slow, reassuring, circles; not even noticing that he was doing so until Veronica had wrapped her arms around him tighter, burying her head in his chest, sighing out, “That feels nice.”

Jughead dropped his head down, resting his chin on the top of her hair and let out an inquiring hum.

“My mom used to rub my back whenever I was upset.” she explained “But after my dad…well, you know—she and I sort of lost contact. I’m not sure why.”

“Well, I’m happy to fill in for her until you figure it out.”

Veronica snorted, and Jughead laughed along with her, even though he’d been mostly serious. The song ended—was replaced by something far more upbeat and fitting to the celebratory mood—and Veronica slowly pulled herself away from him.

“And so the bell tolls midnight.” she sighed.

“Are you going now?”

“Yeah, I promised Javier that I would be home before midnight so as not to scare Santa off.”

“He’s a firm believer then?”

“Sort of. I wasn’t going to do the whole thing with Santa originally, but somehow it ended up happening.”

They left the crowded bar behind them and Veronica, after saying goodnight to a few members of the staff, went to claim her coat, with Jughead following close behind.

“So I’m assuming it’s Christmas with you dad and sister tomorrow then.” Veronica said, settling her hat on her head while looking up at him.

“Yeah. Will it just be you and Javier?”

“And my mom—she’s getting here in the morning. Hermosa told Javier she would be here but…” she shrugged and Jughead nodded in understanding.

“And I suppose you’ll be celebrating New Years in New York, with Toni.”

Jughead shrugged, feeling rather dejected at the thought, took her coat from the attendant and began helping Veronica into it.

“I guess.”

Veronica’s arms slid into her silk-lined sleeves, and Jughead found his gaze zeroing in on the nape of her neck, the way her spine twisted so visibly under her thin skin as he pulled the coat up and over her exposed shoulders.

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

“What?” Veronica asked, turning to look up at him—standing much closer then he thought she would normally.

“That’s not—I just—“

Jughead shook his head, willing himself to concentrate. Maybe that champagne had been a little stronger then he’d thought after all.

“I’m not going to stay—at the party, I mean—and I would like to walk you home, if you don’t…”

He trailed off, too caught up in the sparkles in Veronica’s deep brown eyes to bother finishing his sentence.

“…Mind?” she finished for him, buttoning the last button on her coat “No, I don’t mind—It’s actually very sweet of you to ask. Bradley,” she called to the coat attendant “could you get me Mr. Jones jacket please.”

They didn’t say much to each other on their way to the Pembrooke—that is to say, they talked, but not about anything that meant anything. It was all remarks about the weather, and the changes that had been made to the town, and the lack of any movies that could live up to the classics.

They reached the Pembrooke without incident, and Jughead went with Veronica to the front door, at which point they stood together awkwardly, neither really certain about how the night should end.

“Well, I guess I should go then.”

Veronica nodded, then glanced upwards and smirked.

“I suppose so—looks like someone else has a different idea though.” pointing upwards to the stone arch they were standing under.

“What do you mea—oh.” following her direction and catching sight of the small bunch of mistletoe that someone had hung.

“It’s strange, the things we think we have to do because it’s been tagged as, ‘tradition.’” Jughead murmured, looking back down at Veronica.

“I know. But, we are both adults of course, and we don’t have to subscribe to outside ideas.”

“Oh, of course not.” taking a few steps, leaning over her.

“In fact, you could walk away right now and not do a thing. You wouldn’t want to give in to conformity.”

“Obviously. That would be completely against my own personal code.”

“So obviously we aren’t going to do it.” Veronica whispered, looking up at him mischievously.

“Obviously.”

And with that final word Jughead put his hands on either side of Veronica’s face and closed the space between them. Her arms came up, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Veronica’s nose was cold against his skin and Jughead knew that his wool gloves were probably scratchy against Veronica’s cheeks—but none of that mattered.

All that mattered, was the pressure of her mouth on his, and the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against his cheeks, and the fact that this kiss—unlike their first—was completely their own, with no jealous significant others hovering over their shoulders, watching to catch them at feeling anything more then awkwardness.

Veronica pulled away from him first—blushing and laughing—andshe pointed out towards the street.

“Jughead, look. It started snowing!”

Jughead laughed, surging forward and kissing her again, before saying, rather breathlessly, “It’s a christmas miracle.”

“Merry Christmas, Jughead Jones.”

“And a Happy New Year, Veronica Lodge.” he responded, pressing one small kiss on the tip of her nose “Now go inside, you don’t want to scare off Santa, do you?”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” dropping her arms away from him and opening the door “Call me?”

“I swear.” Jughead answered, giving Veronica’s hand one last squeeze before letting it go.

Veronica smiled at him, still blushing, and slipped inside, closing the heavy door behind her with a soft click. Jughead watched the door for a few moments, then turned and walked down the steps, pulling out his phone as he did so.

“Hello?” came the sleepy voice through his phones speaker “Is everything okay, Jughead?"

“Everything is great, Toni. I just wanted to call to tell you that I’m gonna be staying in Riverdale for New Years.”

Toni’s laugh echoed in his ear.

“What could have possibly convinced you to do something like that?”

Jughead glanced back at the Pembrooke, then up at the falling snow and bright stars.

“I don’t know, Toni. Must have been a christmas miracle."


End file.
